


Unity

by LadyKarma18



Series: Self insert fics [1]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Self-Insert, because i wanted a SI for this fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-10-11 02:51:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10453299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKarma18/pseuds/LadyKarma18
Summary: In a strange turn of events, and a gods need for amusement, Tina Evans dies and woke up as the daughter of Berk's most hated resident. She never even thought of changing how events played out in her new world, content with what she remembered, but every flap of a butterfly's wing creates change, and it is not long before she realizes that she does not have much of a choice.





	1. Tyra

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the HTTYD series.

The man known to the people of Berk as Mildew had not always been the dour, scowling man that the Hairy Hooligan tribe had come to know him as. For a time, when he was younger, before the brevity of his situation, with his thinner arms and weaker body had become known, become an issue that became abundantly clear in his life, he was happy. He was not the most cheerful of people, or particularly charismatic, and he had no friends that would stand by him, but when he was younger, he had been content. He had his mother, a strong Viking lass with the tribes typical dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, his father an equally strong warrior, the head of Berk's guard with sun kissed blond hair and atypical grey eyes, throwing his war hammer at the Hooligan's enemies, i.e., dragons and warring tribes.

What a disappointment he must have been to his parents, where after multiple attempts at having children, multiple miscarriages, they finally birthed a child, and it was a hiccup.

His name had not always been Mildew, as it was the Viking way to name the runt of the lot Hiccup, so to had it been his name. Hiccup's known for their thin, stick like arms, thin and frail body, and the utter incompetence when it came to being a Viking. And Mildew, known then as Hiccup, had checked off every checklist in regards to being the runt of the litter.

There had, per chance, been a hope for him in the eyes of his tribe. Hiccup Haddock I had been a great and distinguished leader despite his 'faults', and surely the son of two of Berks finest warriors would produce something equally spectacular?

It was not so.

And so Mildew spent his childhood mocked and scorned, only finding refuge in the home of his parents, and even that was taken away. His mother, having grown frail from the multiple failed pregnancies, died in a dragon attack when he was but four; fell to a monstrous nightmare and its equally monstrous flame. His father had not lasted long after that. Oh, he tried, Mildew would acknowledge that, but there was a fire -as much as he hated to use the term- that had gone out with the passing of his wife. And not even a month after her passing he too fell in an attack, this one due to the Berserker tribe and their chief’s lust for power and greed; Tyron the Mad, known for his madness.

Things just went downhill from there. While the adults mourned for their fallen comrades, the children-well, children can be especially cruel. The heir apparent of the tribe, Stavik, had made a crass comment about Mildews parent, about how bold Fira had been so disappointed in birthing a hiccup of a son that she had offed herself, how fierce Boris had been too much of a coward to live without his wife and allowed the Berserker men to strike him down instead of staying to help defend his people. And Mildew, still mourning the loss of his parents, still hurting in a way that no child ever should, and with no one to talk to, to comfort him in his time of loss, had snapped.

It had been a foolish thing to do, but he was a child, and the situation was understandable, had it been anyone but the two boys. Stavik was the son of the chief, the tribe’s next leader, bold and fierce and brave, everything that was wanted in a Viking chief to be, and Mildew, he was weak, a disappointment, a Hiccup, and thus a blight on the tribe.

In light of Staviks words, he was not banished from the tribe, but for daring to attack the heir, he was effectively banished from the tribe, while still being a part of it. And so at five years old, orphaned, and no clue as to how to care for himself, he was pushed from the village, losing his family’s home, their name, and everything that connected him to them, to a secluded hut newly built at the top of the mountain, nothing but wild boars and dragons for company, forests, and dry, dead dirt that he was ordered to farm for more food during the winter.

And it was isolation at its finest. It took a day, if not more on a good day to make it to the village proper and get supplies that he sorely needed for he had not the skill to create them on his own, and more if it was on a bad weather day, for Berk snowed nine months of the year and hailed the other three. So more often than not he had no one but himself to talk to.

When devastating winter hit the island, he was always the last to get the news, if he did get it, often forgotten as a bad memory in the minds of the tribe and Stavik (who would become leader and held a grudge against him for the slight from when they were kids and the lost tooth he suffered from Mildews punch). So he was often up in his little hut, the wooden walls doing nothing to keep the biting cold out or stop the fire from flickering out.

It was in that isolation, that cut off from his village, that Mildew grew from a slightly inquisitive, if shy child to a bitter old man, taking his vices against anyone that he could when he could, and even then sometimes not. And so the years passed. Stavik sired a son just as Viking worthy as he himself had been, Stoick, who became leader of the tribe with his father passing, all the while Mildew stayed on the outskirts, farming his cabbage - the only vegetable that he found could reasonably grow in the dry caked soil of his mountain top - and watching as everyone went about their lives with a sense of happiness that darkened whenever he came about.

The only upside of the moment was when, in a drunken moment of luck towards the end of the years devastating winter he managed to bed a younger lass who was equally as sloshed as he was - though for different things. He was thrilled that he had finally managed to save enough money to buy his own sheep. He had not a clue as to what got the maiden (not that she was at the end) off her rockers.

Then, irony of ironies, Stoick and his shield maiden but dragon mad of a wife gave birth to their very own Hiccup, a runt born early in the beginning fall season, and instead of drowning the boy as he known, and in some cases witnessed other members of the tribe do, the chief kept the brat.

When he hears that, Mildew, still known as Hiccup at the time, felt a smidgen, small mind you, of respect for the heavily built man, for doing something that only his parents had done.

Of course, then the giant red haired man had to go and name his son Hiccup - as it was a tradition - and suddenly he was stripped of a name. And then he was 'christened' with the name Mildew - thanks to that fat oaf of a blacksmith that was the chief’s best friend. And suddenly the name Hiccup did not seem so bad even if it denoted his status in the eyes of the tribe. For a Hiccup was just the runt, Mildew was the disease ridden goop that grew on the buckets where men and women relieved themselves, a stain, a blight that everyone was more than happy to get rid of, and Mildew had never ever felt as small and hated as he did in that moment, where the village embraced his new name with a vigor that tore the small, tattered pieces of his heart and pride that he thought could go no lower.

And then, that winter, the lass that he had bedded in a fit of drunken jubilation showed up at his door, haggard looking and eyes spitting out hatred as they looked at him, cradling a bundle of cloth to her chest.

He was a father. That drunken winter night he had gotten her pregnant, and no manner of concoction would tear the child from her womb, and so she birthed it, but wanted nothing to do with it. And in less than five minutes Mildew was holding that bundle of dirty cloth and rags to his chest, to shell shocked to do nothing but stare stupidly at the women as she walked away in a huff.

Which brought him to where he was now.

A slight movement of the rags in his arms broke him from his stupor, and with shaking fingers he moved the dirty cloth that shielded the babes face from the cold wind.

Pink skin of a recently birthed baby greeted him, telling him that the little brat was somewhere between a day or two old, and gummy baby blues blinked up at him from slightly wide eyes, fine colored downy hair covering its head.

Mildew never thought he would become a father. Never wanted to be a father, knowing that any child of his would suffer from their association to him, and become just as bitter as he was.

"Now what am I going to do with you?" his voice was hoarse and gravelly from disuse, having only been used throughout the years in the few time he's been in the village and more recently when he spoke to his beloved sheep Fergus, though even that was slow going, so use was he to the quiet of his mountain top.

The baby - girl (a quick lift of the cloth revealed) blinked up at him with those same eyes, the blue orbs focusing on his face with only a few moments of wandering.

Mildew never wanted to be a father, and looking at the baby, he's still not sure if he wants to even try.

Babies are demanding things from the few he's seen in the village, and they get much much worse in the future. They also need food, clothing, attention, and while he is somewhat certain he can give the girl the latter, the former two are just about out of reach. 

He may naturally be stick thin, but it’s not from a lack of trying. He barely has enough goods to trade and food to fill himself up as it is. A growing child will be impossible to feed.

The hiccup could already imagine what life would be like if he kept the girl. Harsher winters, with less food. Cast down clothes, if any. Nappy changing and other unpleasant things. Those were some of what he had to look forward to if he kept her.

He also thought of her death, for it was almost certain. Of getting attached and feeling his heart (which though he was stubbornly refusing, was already warming up to the little weed) shatter even further as he watched her pass due to either hunger or disease or the bone shilling cold that was his residence.

But...

The elderly man watched as the newborn closed her eyes and slept, lashes brushing against skin far softer then the wool his Fergus gave him come shearing time.

Would it really be all that bad to keep her? To try?

If she manages to survive (and he would do his darnest to make sure that she did), then food may not be so sparse. He would have another hand in managing his cabbage, and she could learn how to spool wool -somehow- and create clothes from Fergus wool, so he would not have trade so much of his edibles for clothing.

If she survived...

"Looks like you are going to be sticking with me for a while" he told the infant in a whisper as she slept soundly on.

If the little lass could survive the winter with what he had at the moment, then Mildew would keep her, raise her in the way that no one had since his parents had passed into the halls of Valhalla. He would ensure that she became the best that she could be.

He owed it to the memory of his parents, who decided to keep their runt of a son, to take a chance instead of drowning it.

He owed it to the girl for being stubborn and holding on in her mother’s womb while said mother tried to kill her with abortion concoctions.

And most importantly, Mildew owed it to the last remnants of his humanity that he stubbornly clung to, not wanting to become what the tribe expected him to be.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
"Next!"

Stoick barely held back a sigh as the Viking man in front of him left, grumbling about the answer his chief had given to him in regards to his problem.

Devastating winter had just ended, and requests for the chief had skyrocketed as they always did when the first bud of springs began to peek through. He had been at this for hours, and his feet were starting to sore from standing in his boots without rest, and his voice had the slightest bit of a rasp from all the talking and smoothing over he had to do.

Being chief was not easy, and he usually wouldn't regret taking over from his father as he did in that moment if it hadn't been for a couple of things. 

His son, his first born, and perhaps only born if the multiple failures in previous pregnancies were any indication, was a hiccup, and instead of drowning him Stoick kept him alive, if only to see that spark in Valka's eyes. He could see the pity in the eyes of his people as they offered him their sorrows in regards to his 'mistake'.

While Stoick may have thought that in the beginning in regards to his son, he certainly did not now. Not after spending winter with the boy, who while small, was fiercely curious and who's eyes had turned from their typical baby blue to Stoicks own green, and his auburn hair the perfect mix of his red and Valka's brown.

Hiccup, as he had named the boy as tradition stated, was a delight, even if a bit heart attack inducing. The child was so curious, and already at a few months old was grabbing at things that he shouldn't. Stoick could already tell he was going to be a terror when he stared to move around on his own. Not that he minded much, it just went to show how misjudged his son was in the eyes of the Hairy Hooligan tribe since he could already cause Stoick of all people to feel terror.

He desperately wanted to be with his wife and son at the moment. He had not realized how much his duties would cut into their family time now that it was spring.

A slight clearing of the throat pulled him from his thoughts and he saw the last person he had to meet before he was done with all the requests today and could finally get around to doing the more physical aspects of Cheifing.

"Mildew?" red bushy brows drew up in surprise, and a slight tinge of guilt wormed its way into his stomach.

The man looked horrible, well, more than usually, his body skinnier and frailer then last he saw him. Winter had not been easy on the man, and Stoick remembered guiltily that he had forgotten to give his elder the call to come down to the Great hall when the winds of another horrible storm was upon them.

"Chief" the frail man said in his croaky voice, his sheep, Fergy or something 'baa-ing' beside him. "I would like your blessing"

"Blessing?" It was then that Stoick noticed the grey and brown bundle to the man’s chest. Why, the way that it was wrapped, it was almost as if he-

"You have a child?" he asked in surprise.

Mildew nodded. "Yes, got her a little before the first storm hit." he handed the infant to the chief, arms shaking at the infants weight, and Stoick quickly grabbed the child before she fell. Removing the fabric that covered her he was met with a little girl the same size as his son, only born healthy from what he could see and around two months old. Grey -blue eyes, the grey more dominant as the blue receded looked up at him, a small little thumb smaller than his own fingers nail being suckled on in her mouth.

"And the mother" Stoick asked quietly so as not to startle the girl, knowing from his own little one that his booming voice could and would frighten them.

"Not here"

Stoick knew he should press for answers, but his desire to get this over with so that he could get back to his own family that much faster, and the guilt that his negligence could have caused this little lass to perish stilled his tongue.

"Very well, what is her name?"

"Tyra"

Stoick's brows raised at the feminine version of the war god’s name but said nothing of it. "Very well. Child born and baptized in the fury of winter, I name you Tyra, a member of the Hairy Hooligan tribe. May your might break through your enemies and your womb bring glory to your clan and tribe" and Stoick grabbed the dragons blood in the bowl next to him, the thickly dark red liquid barely rippling as his thumb pierced its surface before coming bath out bathed in the same color, and Stoick circled the child's fore head with it.

The blessing done, he handed the child to Mildew, who tucked in the child's flaying hands as she reached for her forehead where the blood was.

"Thank you chief Stoick" the words sounded strange to the chief, never before has he heard Mildew speak in a tone so respectful, as the man was more spiteful than anything else.

Watching the man head back out the door, more than likely heading home, a queer urge came over the red haired man and he called out before his brain caught up with his mouth.

"Mildew, wait" The elder stopped, piercing grey eyes turning back to him. "If you ever need any help or-or advice, my doors are always welcome"

Mildew paused, eyes sharpening as they looked at Stoick and the chief wondered if he was being judged. After a few moments Mildew nodded, and left.

Stoick stood there for a few more moments, the fire in the hall, crackling and hissing as it ate the wood that fueled it, thinking about this strange meeting with the village’s outcast.

For the rest of the day he thought about it, and finally that night, curled with Valka on the bed, little Hiccup nursing in her arms, he brought up the meeting.

Valka listened with open ears, quietly burping their son when he was done and rocking him to sleep.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

Stoick huffed. "Do? Why would I have to do anything?"

Valka nestled further into his arms. "You wouldn't have brought this up to me if you didn't want to do anything about it Stoick. Besides..." he tone turned considering as he clutched her little son closer to her bosom. "He is only one man, and he is old, older then you. I would not be surprised if he was the oldest man in the entire tribe. And now he has a child. Being a parent, it’s a two person job. And Stoick, I've seen the land he lives on, you've seen it to. There is no way that that man can keep him and a growing child fed, not enough to survive. So the question is my Chief" she looked up at him through brown eyes that Stoick loved, "what are you going to do about it?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
And so, the time passed. Little Tyra proved to be an unexpected delight to Mildew. The little lass was very curious, and the man would swear that she was walking and talking long before any of her peers were. Her eyes had finally settled, her grandfathers and Mildew's own grey orbs staring at any and everything, with flecks of her grandmothers cobalt blue scattered throughout.

There had been a bit of a hiccup, excuse the pun, when it came to her learning. She was quick to talk, but learning how to speak was a different matter. Her words, strangely enough, were spoken with a bit of an accent though how she came about such a curious tilt to her voice Mildew would never know. Her sentences would end up coming out wrong, and it took more patience then Mildew thought he had possessed to coach her through the language. The elderly man knew it was mainly his fault. While he had become better at talking now that he had people - or animals in Fergus case - to talk to, it still was not nearly enough in order to help a growing child learn.

Of course, as much as Mildew hates to admit it, he never would have seen Tyra grow if it wasn't for the generosity of the chief. A week after he had went down to the mountains the chief, his wife, and little son had come up to check up on him, bringing with them a pail of milk to feed the babies. Valka had given him some advice on how to deal with infants, little tidbits of wisdom she had learned from the village mothers, along with clothes small enough to fit an infant, but still big enough to let them grow.

In that visit, while Valka watched her son and his daughter, cooing over how adorable they were in there matching green clothes, Stoick pulled him to the side and told him that he would have food provided until the girl was old enough to help out.

When Mildew protested, sputtering about how he could provide for his daughter Stoick just gave him a look and told him that it was the chief’s job to make sure that all his people were provided and cared for.

In a smart show of tact Mildew did not point out that the man’s father and grandfather had failed utterly then, or how Stoick had already failed. Instead he just accepted the silent offering, knowing that it was as close to an apology as he would get from the proud leader.

And without fail, every week, fish and milk were delivered to his home. They were not always the freshest, but it more than surpluses his food to where he didn't have to starve himself so that Tyra could eat.

It wasn't much, but to Mildew, who had been shunned his entire life, that small peace offering meant the world to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life, as five year old Trya had come to realize, always threw you through unexpected loops. It took very little for something to change irrevocably.

Her name had not always been Tyra, and she had not always been a Viking. Until five years ago, when she was born, her name had been Tina Evens, a sixteen year old high school student. Of course, then she died - somehow, she was still iffy on the details - and woke up as a newborn in a Viking village. The blonde didn't remember much of her time as a baby, the times blurry, for which she was thankful for as there are some things that you just don't want to even think about, much less remember. 

Then of course, came the biggest surprise. She recognized where she was, it took a while, and it wasn't until food was brought up from the village that she learned where she was. And it was all thanks to the blond blacksmith, with a braided long moustache, a metal hook for an arm and a peg leg grumbling about while he pulled a wagon full of food behind him.

That man’s name was Gobber. She knew the name not because she was introduced to the man, she had never met him, but because she had watched him on a TV screen training teenagers on how to kill a dragon. 

She was in the How to Train Your Dragon World, and hadn't that been such a wakeup call. Tyra knew that the dragons were not the friendly beasts she had seen at the end of the movie, Gobber was more than happy to complain to any one that was willing - or unwilling in the case of her father - about those 'vile beasts' that constantly destroyed the village.

Which also brought her to her next revelation. Her father was 'Mildew'. While she knew that the man was her father, it never quite hit her as to who he was, or rather who he would be. Mildew the traitor. 

As Tina, she had been an avid fan of the entire HTTYD series, which included the animated series. She recognized Mildew as the man that would constantly try to get the dragons banished, then man who betrayed his own tribe to the outcasts for no other conceivable gain other than to reign hell on the Hairy Hooligan tribe. She had hated the man.

Tyra did not hate her father. How could she hate the man and his dry sense of humor when he decided to use it? How could she hate the man who tucked her in at night, who gave up his food to her so that she wouldn't go hungry when their supplies were a little low? Who told her that he loved her in his own awkward way?

The answer was that she couldn't. She couldn't hate him. So instead she would do whatever was in her power to stop him from doing something stupid later on.

Her chores done for the day, and after getting permission from Mildew, she wandered off into the forest that surrounded there house.

Everything was so different from her time as Tina. Instead of cement pathways, roads, and modern housing and cars, there were gravel roads and completely wooden houses. She had no idea as to how they moved the heavier equipment around as they had yet to have dragons help them do it, and she does not recall any horses from the series. Plus, there were the trees. Everywhere she looked on Berk there were trees. The island was surrounded by trees. As Tina it was mostly the trees on sidewalks or in the backyard that you would see them as she lived in an urban areas mostly full of houses. Then there was the lack of plumbing - there was a bit of humiliation when she had to squat over it to relieve herself in the morning. Potty training was something she had hesitated over until the indignity of having someone clean after her won her over. Plus bath time...yeah, buckets were a bit of a thing. And then there was the lack of AC and heater capabilities. The AC she could live without, it was always cold in Berk (which she loved) but when it got too cold there were times when she desperately wanted a heater as animal fur blankets could only do so much to keep the chill out.

Her inattention to her surrounding caught up to her and a low hanging branch got a hold of her.

"Ouch" she rubbed her forehead, the place where the branch had struck. The skin felt hot to the touch, and was a little tender, enough so that it caused her eyes to sting. Sitting on the ground she looked around her. Tyra never had to fear getting lost as long as there was a slope that went up and she didn't leave the mountain that she was on.

Now that some of the energy that was pent up had now been spent she walked at a more leisurely pace. There really was not a lot that she could do. There were no other kids that lived close enough for her to play with, the ones nearest her physical age were in the village and that was too far away to visit. She didn't mind playing with children. Her main goal in her previous life was actually to become a pre-school teacher. So she did not think that she would have a hard time getting to know the kids in the village, even if mentally they were leagues apart. It would just be nice to have someone to talk to other then her father.

A flash of red caught her attention and she practically teleported to the plant as she realized what it was. Wild berries, red, plump, juicy, and most importantly not poisonous. The last part was the most important thing. When she first started to explore the forest Mildew made sure that she knew what she could eat and what she could not eat. It was a learning experience.

Storm colored eyes closed in pleasure as the sweet fruit burst into her mouth with just the slightest hint of tartness; the perfect combination in Tyra's opinion.

"Dad might want some' she thought after gobbling a few handfuls of berries. Unfortunately there was nothing that she had on her that she could use to gather them all in. She left her helmet back at the house, and she was not in the habit of bringing bowls or buckets with her when she went out unless she was getting fresh water from the river nearby.

A quick glance around showed nothing but stray rocks and branches. One in particular caught her eye. It was somewhat long, about the size or her arms spread out, but attached to it were leaf filled branches that curved around the edges. It would have to do.

It did not take her long to fill makeshift branch bowl with berries, carefully plucking the sweet fruit from its home and avoiding the thorns. They were not very long but those pointy edges hurt!

Tyra froze. She looked up from her position, one of the berries still in her hand and glanced around with storm eyes. 'Was that a- There it is again!' and she was off, berries forgotten as she chased after the sound of someone crying in the distance. It was high pitched and faint, but now that she knew what she was looking for she was able to track it.

Branches and foliage passed her by as she ran, some nicking her in her arms but thankfully not her face before she found the source of the cries.

It was a child. A boy around her age, with auburn colored hair dressed in green. She had no idea what his eyes were and that was because he was crying into his hands while he sat at the base of a tree, his legs pulled in.

"Are you alight?" Tyra made her way over to him, her steps slow and steady as if she was approaching a wild animal rather than another person.

She was greeted by red rimmed green eyes and a startled but frightened expression. Snot and tears decorated the boy’s face, and she was startled by how familiar she found the other boy.

He sniffled again, his nose twitching. "Who are you?" there was a slight nasal quality to the boys voice, and it struck her again how familiar this boy seemed. Maybe he was one of the characters from the show? She pushed that thought away. There were more important things to figure out then why this boy seemed so familiar.

"My name is Tyra" she introduced. She was close enough now that she could see the freckles that decorated the bridge of the boy’s nose.

He gave her a strange look, and caution started to appear in his eyes. Still he answered her. "I'm Hiccup"

And she felt her world come crashing down as she froze. This was Hiccup? Hiccup, the one that would end the war with the dragons. Rider of the night fury. Main character of the entire How to train your dragon series. That Hiccup?  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hiccup glanced at the girl in front of him. She looked around his age, with light blonde hair and storm grey eyes, and wore a brown and white ensemble; a white shirt with brown pants and a vest and boots made out of fur. With her coloring she looked a lot like Astrid.

The chief’s son sniffled again. He didn't like this. He had no idea as to who this girl was, and he knew practically everybody in the village!

A stray breeze passed through the trees and he shivered. It was getting late and it had been a while since he had been separated from his father. Stoick had decided to take him on a fishing slash hunting trip so that they could bond more as father and son.

Hiccup had not wanted to come. Even though he was only five years old he had begun to realize the way things were in the village. He was small, much smaller than his cousin Snotlout who was only a few months older then he was and the other Viking children his age, even some of the ones that were just a year younger then he was. He bruised easily, and when devastating winter came around every year he was always bedridden and in the tender care of Gothi. And he was weak. Astrid and the twins were already lifting their parent’s axes and swords, beginning their training to become warriors of the village. The chief’s son had tried to follow in their footsteps, tried to lift his father’s axe but only succeeded in spraining his wrist. He can still remember the mocking jeers his cousin sent at him when he learned about what happened.

He could already tell that he was going to be mocked again if - when - he gets back to the village. After all, what sort of self-respecting son of a Viking chief got lost in the woods when with his impressive father?

But Hiccup could not help it. There was only so much he could of his father’s talk of the thrill that came with spilling a nadder's guts. Plus they were in the woods! Wild dragons lived here, and Gobber would tell him all about the trolls that roamed the hills for unsuspecting Viking children to bring back to their home and cook for dinner. He didn't mean to run when the tree he was by started rattling ominously and away from his father. It was just instinct after being told so many times to run and hide when dragons attacked the village.

And that brought him to where he was at, lost in the troll and dragon infested forest, no idea as to where he was supposed to head to get back home, and with a strange girl that did not know that him or that his father was Stoick the vast.

She even had a scary name, so unlike the names that he as used to hearing in the village. She was named after the god or war! Didn't she know that she needed a name like his or Fishlegs or the other member of the village so that the trolls would not come after her? A name like that was practically inviting them to come after her! And she was so little! Like him! There was no way that she would be able to defend herself.

"Hiccup huh? I've never met anyone named that before. What are you doing out here?"

Tears started to sting at the corner of his eyes but Hiccup stubbornly pushed them away. Now was not the time to cry. He desperately wished that his father was here. For all of his father’s brashness and how he never listened to a word Hiccup said, his father always protected him and knew exactly what to do. It was all part of cheifing, he would tell him, and that someday Hiccup would have to do it to. Learn how to protect the members of their tribe and stop disputes. Hiccup was not sure how he was going to do it, being as little as he was, but he was sure going to try. 

"Hiccup?"

That's right. He was going to be the chief of the Hairy Hooligan Tribe one day. He was the son of Stoick the Vast! He was going to protect the people of the village! He may be small, and not the chief yet, but that does not mean that he can’t protect anybody. With a decisive nod he set a plan of action - only without the plan. He would protect this girl as obviously she did not know the importance of names. He was-

"Gahh" he shrieked when he felt something poke him in the ribs. He held his chest over his heart as he glared at the deadpan expression the girl wore, a stick still pointed at him from where she poked him. "Don't do that!"

She rolled her eyes. "I wouldn't have to have done that if you were not ignoring me"

Immediately he felt bad. He did not mean to ignore her. Hiccup just got lost in his thoughts. He knew what it was like to be ignored, and he never wanted to be the cause of someone felling like that. It was not a pleasant feeling, being ignored. There was always a hollow feeling whenever that happened to him, deep in his chest.

"You are doing it again"

A blush bloomed on his cheeks. He really was not making a good first impression was he?

"I'm sorry" he apologized.

He could hear her sigh and his chest was beginning to ache when he realized that he had disappointed her just like he did everyone else in the village.

"You never did answer though. What are you doing out here? The only people that some out here are my father and I and sometimes Gobber whenever he brings supplies" Hiccup peeked up at her. 

While insanely curious as to who she was and why his mentor was bringing supplies to her and her father Hiccup held off on the questioning. He should probably answer her question. "I was hunting with my father. We were going to bring back boar for the rest of the village to enjoy"

She offered him her hand and after a startled moment, he took it. "Boar huh, those things are pretty hard to catch. Did you manage to get any?"

Hiccup bushed the back of his pants, shivering as he felt the unpleasant sensation of something crawling on him, a souvenir from sitting on the ground for so long. "I didn't. I don't know about my dad though as we got separated" he admitted sheepishly.

"Well that's no good" the girl, Tyra looked up in the sky and Hiccup mirrored her action. His heart sank as he saw the darkened sky. It was already so late? How was he going to find his father and go back home now? 

"It’s getting pretty late" storm blue eyes met green. "I don't think that you will manage to get back to the village now, so if you want you can stay with me and my father for the night and we will bring you back tomorrow" she offered with a smile.

Hiccup hesitated. The offer was nice, but he did not know this girl or her father. On the other hand he did not want to stay at here all night and potentially get eaten.

"I'll go with you"

Her smile became larger and the five year old could not help but smile back. She grabbed his hand.

"Great! We just have to make a pit stop first" and she started to drag him after her, and Hiccup would have to re-evaluate his opinion of her not being strong because she was pulling him along no problem and her grip was tight. He didn't think that he could pry her fingers off if he tried.

They made it back to a berry bush and he was offered some the plump fruit when his stomach grumbled, having not eaten since that morning when his father first told him of their plans for the day. Tyra laughed at him when she heard, and Hiccup knew his face had flushed red, but strangely enough her laugh did not make him feel self-conscious, it isn't cause his stomach to drop and have the need to flee. Instead it was nice, teasing almost. Hiccup decided that he liked that feeling. 

Hiccup decided that he liked her, for all her strangeness.

And for a boy as shunned and bullied as was in a Viking village that prized strength, it was perhaps the best feeling of all that he has felt in his few years of life.  
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The past few years had been the happiest of Mildew's life, if also not the hardest with the exception of when he was first moved onto the mountain.

His little house had been lit up with a voice not his own or the rambling "baa's" of his sheep, but instead with the sweet lilt of his child. More than once throughout these past few years the old hiccup had thanked Odin, thanked Thor, thanked any deity that he knew by name and then some that allowed his little miracle into his life. 

He remembered his initial reluctance to care for her, bring her into his home and heart, but every day she proved that he was right to let her live, to care for her. Whether it was to bring a smile to his face every day - an expression that pulled at his mouth awkwardly at the beginning but had become easier with time - or her strange ideas that mostly panned out.

Before Tyra came into his life his day consisted of plowing through his field, harvesting cabbage, taking care of Fergus and cooking his dinner. Now, while he still did all of those things, he didn't do it alone. Now he had someone to talk to, to laugh and rant and scream and make merry with, and to Mildew, formally Hiccup, who never expected that he would get this in his life, it meant more than he ever wanted his daughter to know. 

Well, Mildew amended, he did almost everything, Tyra had quickly taken over the cooking, little nose scrunched up one too many times after eating one of his meals. And after eating one of her meals, Mildew admitted that maybe she was on to something. Of course this was after he watched her like a hawk to make sure that she didn't burn the house down by not watching the fire, or worse hurt herself doing the deed. He had watched as she carefully gutted the fish, her first cut sloppy and her second one getting the job done before she split the fish in half, from head to fin and then wrapped each half in one of the cabbage leafs before placing it into his unused oven. What came out of it was a fish so tender his teeth did not ache with each bite, of a meaty morsel that did not carry the overwhelming stench of fish from the sea, but kept the salt of the ocean as its seasoning. In the cabbage that it was wrapped in was a broth that when sipped warmed his insides and a leaf so soft that it melted in his mouth.

Mildew had her cooking every day after that. Not that she complained all that much. And after that she was able to try a variety of different dishes, some successes, and other glaring failures. Tyra never failed to bring back something from her foraging into the forest - and that was a pit of dragon dung that took weeks for him to work through - and using it in her cooking. (He was pretty fond of her berry juice and was eagerly awaiting what that beverage that she had stewing in that air tight pot he fought tooth and nail for a few years before she was born).

Mildew looked up from where he was at in his home, the gutted fish loosely held in his hands when he heard Fergus give off his warning "baa" that signified that Tyra was back. He stood up, groaning as his back popped as he straightened from his bent over position and grabbing his walking stick as he made his way out, dragon teeth smacking and hitting the stick with each step he took. A quick glance up showed that it was nearly night, the sky in that stage between black and red as the sun set and the stars reveling themselves to lesser sight. His eyes were quickly drawn to the movement coming out of the forest.

Tyra was walking out of the woods holding a bundle of something that Mildew was positive was going to be something to eat. But it was the person that she was talking to that grabbed his attention. Auburn colored hair, green eyes the same shade as the father who sired him, freckle covered face all dressed up in green and brown already gave him a clue as to who it was. But it was the thin, stick like arms that wobbled over holding a smaller bundle then his daughter, or a wariness that was hidden behind those eyes, of the boys small stature when compared to what mildew knew was normal for the youth the boy’s age in the village that really gave away the child's identity.

Now, the elder hiccup thought, what was his daughter doing with the son of their tribe’s chief, and why was she bringing him here?


	2. Mildew's Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a strange turn of events, and a gods need for amusement, Tina Evans dies and waked up as the daughter of Berk's most hated resident. She never even thought of changing how events played out in her new world, content with what she remembered, but ever flap of a butterfly's wing creates change, and it is not long before she realizes that she does not have much of a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the HTTYD series.
> 
> Pairing: Hiccup/OC Stoick/Valka Mildew/Unnamed Viking lass

Her father did not look happy.

That was ok. Mildew, as Tyra had come to find, rarely looked happy in the normal sense. The man had a hard time smiling and laughing, and when he did that latter is always seemed fake, something that he forced through his throat; a hacking cough more then a laugh. Then again, when she thinks about it, how hated he was in a show she remembered, and seen how the only one who visited him was Gobber, and even then only when the blacksmith was delivering supplies, was it really that much of a surprise that the man did not know how to let loose? Smile or laugh like regular people? 

She could feel Hiccup shrinking in on himself beside her, and once again the reborn girl had to wonder how this small scrap of a boy was going to become the most important person in this time, in this world. How this small, freckle faced child would tame and ride a dragon. When she was Tina, and had seen the movie for the first time, she thought nothing of it. Riding dragons? Hah! There was nothing special about that. All Hiccup did was treat Toothless with kindness and respect, honestly, not unlike how she was with her pet dog. So really, where was all the wonder and admiration in the movie coming from? It was not until she got older that she had began to realize what had really happened besides a boy riding a dragon for the first time. Hiccup had done so much more then that. He had ended a centuries old feud between man and beast. Rode a wild creature, one that was bigger and far stronger then he, with a human like intelligence. Had pushed back his fear and mistrust to treat a creature he had just days before seen attacking him home with kindness. There was a certain kind of strength in that, something that Tyra rarely saw outside of a movie.

Which is why the Hiccup hiding half behind her was so strange. He was just so different that what she expected and what she remembered of him. Then again, he is just a little kid, someone who had probably had grown up hearing horrible and horrifying stories about the dragons. 

Tyra had heard her fair share since she became fully conscious in her new life. Stories about Monstrous nightmares and their giant jaws and burning bodies laying waste to everything in their paths, whether it be animal, house, or human. Of gronkles who spewed lava at Vikings, the fiery liquid melting flesh off their victims bones or trapping them, and by the time rescue comes they have either died of the heat or lack of air. Deadly nadders with their spine needles piercing through Viking armor and bodies and zipplebacks that suffocated people with their gas and then burned their remains, if they didn't eat them first. All horror stories that Mildew had shared in warning.

She was not sure how many of them were true, could not tell fact from fiction - and of the irony of that in regards to her situation. While it is very easy to imagine all of these scenarios, the piercing, the burning, the liquid melting of flesh and suffocating, Tyra just could not remember dragons eating people, and the only instance she had seen of someone dying from dragons was Hiccups father in the second movie. But there usually is always a grain of salt in stories and especially in cultures where there is less written down and more told down.

"Found something interestin' on your little field trip eh?" the elder of the three said in his drawled out scratchy voice. His staff was gripped tightly by both hands as he looked over them and served as a balance. His bushy eyebrows were squinted together to reflect his eyes. It was probably meant to look menacing, more for her stranger then her, but she could not help but find the sight more amusing then anything.

"Yup~ found some fresh berries" she shook her makeshift basket at him playfully.

Old blue eyes rolled in their sockets. "You know that's not what I meant" but he let the line of questioning go with a glance at the shuffling boy behind her. "Who are you boy?" he asked Hiccup for the first time. 

Tyra could hear the gulp Hiccup swallowed behind her, but to his credit he did answer Mildew. "Hiccup Haddock III".

Mildew nodded as if that was what he was expecting. "The chiefs boy? What are you doing wandering way out here?" So maybe the whole questioning thing was still continuing, just not with the more teasing - or was it mocking? - tone from before.

Hiccup didn't bother answering the question about being the chiefs son. Everyone from the archipelago knew about the Hairy Hooligan's chief's fishbone of a son. "Dad took me out fishing but then we got separated on the way back"

Bushy eyebrows raised. "Is that so?"

Feeling how uncomfortable the boy was behind her the reborn girl rolled blue-grey eyes. "Yes that's so. Can he stay the night with us father? And we can take him down to the village in the morning" There was no way that they can take him out tonight. There were wild dragons out, not to mention the wild hogs that would not even hesitate to attack any moving prey, including their own. It would be suicide. Besides, she really wanted to get to know Hiccup; wanted to see how he would measure up to the boy from the movies.

"Oh alright, but just the night. At first sunlight he is going straight back to the chief" Mildew gave in as he turned and went back into his hut, the thump-thump of his stick hitting the dirt with every step.

Tyra grinned and started to drag the still Hiccup. "C'mon, its going to be cold soon so you want to be inside" She could not help but be excited. For the first time in years she was going to have someone other then her father to talk to!

"So that was your dad? You look nothing alike" Hiccup commented before they were through the door.

"Yup, that's my dad. As for my looks, I was told that I take after my grandparent a lot." Which does make sense. She did not look like Mildew at all, at least from what she could see. It was hard to guess what he looked like as he was so old already. He said that he used to have blonde hair the same shade as hers, which she could believe considering how white his hair is, and their eyes are similar, though his is more of the regular cornflower blue of the tribe while hers is more of a storm blue, the grey mostly overtaking the blue. But everything else was all his mother.

Whenever Tyra gets him to talk about his parents, she always feels an inevitable sadness. Both because she wonders what her own family is doing in her previous world, and how her father must have felt being orphaned so young. Besides Gobber, and the chief on even rarer occasions since his wife's 'death', Mildew had no one to talk to but her and Fergis, and the latter one cannot even speak. how lonely must her father had been before she came along?

It made the blond haired girl wonder sometimes how the original Mildew endured the isolation.

And then Tyra would remember that he didn't, and instead became a bitter old man who betrayed the tribe and the boy behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hiccup felt like his whole world was spinning. 

He knew that the only reason he was thinking of it was because he was in the hut of a man he had only heard the vaguest of hated whispers about and a girl that he was pretty sure no one in the village - except his father, because his dad knew everything about his people - knew about.

The runt of the Hairy Hooligan tribe had heard of the man Mildew. Of a older man that delighted in ruining the people of Berk's lives with his actions. He was supposed to be this horrible person that ate children and left their bones on their parents porch as punishment for some imagined slight. Not unlike the trolls in Gobber's stories. The antithesis of what a proper Viking should be.

When Tyra had led him to the house on top of Berk's smallest mountain, Hiccup knew exactly where he was. He had froze in fear, barely able to answer the man when he asked questions. But it was not because he was talking to a man the he had barely heard of, or that Mildew was so hated by the people. It was because in one, horrifyingly breathtaking second Hiccup had seen his future.

The lack of a strong buff chest, no broad shoulders, skinny arms comparable to twigs. In other words, the man that the rest of the village despised was a hiccup. The runt of the liter. Just like Hiccup was.

In those few moment, Hiccup had seen something in the older mans eyes, something that made him feel worse then sad. Maybe bad? But it was enough that is affected even him.

Was this to be his future? Hated, cast away to the side to only be remembered when he reared his head out of his isolation?

Hiccup tried to tell himself, as he followed Tyra - his new friend? Acquaintance? - into the hut, that that would never happen. Mildew and him were worlds apart. Hiccup was the son of the tribes chief, the next heir to take over. There was no way that he would ever be cast aside. And, well, Mildew was Mildew. They were completely different people. 'But Snotlout is heir apparent after him' and that thought stopped him cold. 

His older cousin was not related to his father. No, their relation was through their mothers who were sisters; his mother Valka and Snotlout's mother Helma. Inheritance through Viking tribes were not what many outside their culture expected. In any other civilization outside the archipelago, should Hiccup die or be deemed an insufficient heir, the next in line would be whoever was closely related to the ruling family, which would mean his fathers side of the family, and if that failed there was usually a fight for the position. That was not the case to Vikings. It would be whoever the closest living relative to Hiccup was. As his father and his father's father had no siblings, and Snotlout was Hiccup's closest relation, his cousin would take over. It was because in Viking culture it was assumed that the closest relative would be the closest confident outside of a spouse, and would thus be able to lead the tribe with minimal fuss.

Hiccup dearly would like to know who created such a horrible inheritance rite as he and his cousin were as far from close as possible. Snotlout wanted nothing to do with him, and while it was slow going Hiccup was very much beginning to feel the same. So he knows with absolute certainty that Snotlout would not lead them the way Hicup would.

Not that Hiccup particularly wanted to lead the Hairy Hooligans at the moment! His father was more then capable of the job.

The fire in the houses heat pit warmed him the moment that he walked in, and for the first time since he met this strange girl with an even stranger name, Hiccup acknowledged that he was cold. That was not much of a surprise because Berk was always cold, even in the winter months. He tried rubbing his arms to bring forth some warmth but it was slow going.

"Here" a faded fur blanket was presented to him, patches of brown bear fur missing in sections, but a much warmer option then simply rubbing his hands together. Hiccup was quick to wrap it around himself, sighing in relief as the cold chill was somewhat blocked.

"Thank you" Mildew just gave an abrupt nod before heading back to the cooking area in the house. It was different then what Hiccup knew was in their house, much older looking. He wondered if the two of them had to deal with their houses constantly being destroyed by violent dragons like the rest of Berk.

Huddled down by the fire, Hiccup wondered what his father was doing. Was he looking for him? Rallying up the Vikings in the village to find him? It had only been a few hours, not even a day, and already the Viking heir missed his father terribly. He tightened his fingers around his bent knees.

He paid barely any mind to the only girl in the house when she sat down next to him. He did start paying attention when she spoke, if only because of what she asked.

"What's the village like?" He lifted his green to her stormy eyes, incredulous. How does this girl not know what the village looks like? How can she not know? But then he remembers that he has never seen her before, never even heard of her, and considering how infamous her father is shouldn't she at least be somewhat well known? 

"How do you not know what the village is like?" he blurted out without thinking, and immediately after the words came out of his mouth he can feel himself flushing a horrible shade of red, his ears and cheeks burning. 'Why did I ask that?' he scolded himself internally. Hiccup never thought himself rude, but, well, that was a horrible question.

Instead of scorn or anything equally horrible that Hiccup expected, he got an answer. "I've never been to the village. In fact, outside of my father you are the only person that I have ever talked to" there was a loneliness in her gaze, one that Hiccup could sometimes see in his eyes and, with a resigned sort of acceptance, what he now knew he had seen in Mildew's eyes earlier. 

What must it have been like, to only have your father for company? To be stuck miles away from the rest of the people, your people? Then Hiccups mind turned towards Mildew itself. And then stopped.

He didn't want to think what it had been like for Mildew. The knowledge, the realization that he could become his future was not something that he wanted to think about.

Hiccup finally began to answer, halting every few words at first before becoming stronger in his description. " It's loud...and crowded. Every morning Ms. Larson bakes bread and trades it in the village, even though she just recently gave birth to her son Gustov. He looks like a squished tomato, but don't tell her that or she will chase you around the village with a rolling pin. Then their is-"

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Tyra listened to Hiccup as he talked about the people in the village, the unnamed characters in a series that she was doing everything possibly to sear into memory. There were some that the blonde false-child recognized right away, like Snotlout and Astrid and the other members of the dragon training academy. There were also some that brought forth hazy wisps of half remembered thoughts and scenes, like Gustov and Ms. Larson, and strangely enough someone named Hildegard, though the other made no mention of him or her. Then there was mention of someone named silent Sven who apparently became mute after making Gothi - a small old lady with a walking stick almost twice her height - and his weird obsession with sheep, and the towns fishermen Bucket and Mulch who always made sure that everyone had enough fish to survive the long, dead months of devastating winter. He mentioned so many people that by the end of it she had already forgotten the majority of them.

"So you apprentice under Gobber? He's the blacksmith right? Are you any good?" Tyra asked half curious. She knew that he could make some amazing things, Toothless's tail fin and his fire sword some of the more memorable ones, but this was a young Hiccup, one who had barely started to learn, and as stupid as it sounded, she was kind of expecting something great already.

Perhaps it was also because of the various fanfictions she had read that always had the whole Hiccup being this prodigal black smith that raised her expectations, even though she knew realistically that given Hiccups age there was no way he had learned much. 

Hiccup had an embarrassed flush to his cheeks, but their was a pleased smile present on his face. It was small, and while Tyra knew his others smiles seen today were real this one just seemed so much more...genuine? Pure? Happy? Definitely something.

He messed around with the inside of his vest. "Well, don't tell Gobber" as if she could "but I wanted to try making something on my own, and after observing him I made this" he finished pulling something out of his vest and proudly showed it off. It was a dagger, or a large cooking knife, the difference between the two was not really present in the blade proudly displayed. The sheath was a tough dark brown leather with a crude drawing on it. The hilt of the sword was not smooth, some of the sides bulkier then the other. When pulled out of the sheath, the blade itself also was not that impressive, their were dents and bumps all over it, and the edge of it looked to be dull. Curiously the blonde ran her thumb over the dull age of the blade only to pull back with a hiss at the sharp stinging sensation. Blood started to pull itself through the torn skin. 

What she had initially thought of as a dull and blunt knife turned out to be sharper then she had expected, almost sharper then the knife used for gutting fish. What a deceiving appearance. 

"I should have warned you about it being sharper then it looked" Hiccup said worriedly as he took the knife back.

Tyra glanced up at him. Never judge a book by is cover was a popular phrase in the real world. That knifes appearance was very deceiving, was it not only fitting that such a knife was made and in the possession of the on person who's appearance was also very deceiving?

The smell of baked fish wafted through the hut. The blonde excused herself from Hiccups curious eyes and went to the oven, picking up the wooden fork that was off to the side. Funny thing about forks, they didn't exist in Viking culture, well, nothing outside of a pitchfork. Vikings either ate with their hands or used a spoon when it came to soup. She was appropriately horrified by the notion, and after multiple failed attempts managed to make a somewhat bent and lopsided wooden fork that she constantly had to sharpen as the prongs become to soggy from whatever was cooking. As it was she already knew she was going to have to make another one in maybe another month, or just start to use the ones that were just made for herself and Mildew.

The wooden prongs sunk into the fish easily, the skin crispy but the inside feeling to be pretty soft. It was done. 

"Dad, dinners ready!" was called out to the top called out having seen the oldest member in the hut climb up onto the roof earlier. Fergus "baa-ed" and the blonde gave the sheep a good solid pat on the head as she passed. She grabbed the plates - there were only two - and placed the fish on it, one fish for Mildew on his plate and two on the other one. Hiccup could just share a plate. It was not like their was any chance the two were going to cross spit or something.

Startled green eyes glanced up when the plate was placed between us, the cabbage covered fish gaining his eyes and a rumble passed through his stomach. Another embarrassed flush grew on his cheeks but the reborn child paid it no mind.

"Here, eat up" she said pointing at the fish closest to him. He gave a startled glance before reaching out slowly towards the fish. "Careful its hot".

Dad came down from the roof, his feet making a quiet thump when he landed. He paused when he saw Hiccup, stormy grey eyes widening minutely and something flashing before disappearing entirely so fast that Tyra wondered if she imagined it. He remained silent, taking his usual seat at the head of the table and gripping the edge of his plate with his other hand, the other poised and ready with his spoon - she never could get him to eat with his fork but at least it was better then his hands - and dug in.

The taste cabbage, the salty crispness of the fish and the broth flavored by the wild herbs scavenged out in the forests filled their mouths. Compared to the food from her previous life, this was the farthest thing from gourmet that it could be. What Tyra would not give to sink her teeth into a juicy burger, or a hot dog. Pizza was something she might be able to make, If the blonde could ever figure out how to make the dough and get her hands on some tomatoes and cheese. Years of living off of nothing but fish, cabbage, milk and water tends to make even the most compliant person complain about the lack of variety, and while she was still a little leery about even trying to cook much less taste yak - no matter if its the Viking equivalent of a cow - what she wouldn't give to have some chicken. Even scrambled eggs. With cheese. And tomatoes and onions and bell peppers and all other manner of things that went into a southwest omelet.

Before she knew it her fish was nothing but bone, head, and the fatty portions that she just could not force herself to eat, and was sipping the broth that was leftover in the cabbage before eating the green wrapping. thinking about all the things that were missed from the modern world tended to make her eat on auto pilot.

The front of Hiccup's shirt was damp from the fish broth he couldn't swallow. Mildew was slowly chewing the last bit of cabbage that he grew.

"That was amazing" Hiccup complimented with wide eyes. Tyra nearly flushed in pleasure. Her cooking really was not that great. Though, if the village cooks are anything like her father then she can kind of understand the reason. Still, it was nice to hear something like that from someone other then Mildew.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not long after dinner Hiccup and his hosts went to bed, Mildew giving out the short order for them to sleep as they had a long journey in the morning to reach the village. 

The tribes heir was laying down facing the fire on the floor, the scrappy fur blanket from before his only method of keeping out the biting cold that seeped into the hut.

His father must be so worried about him.

The thought came unbidden, slicing across like a knife against skin in his mind, and hurting just as deep. His father never really let him out of his sight, for as long as Hiccup could remember. Or if he did, he was always in the hands of someone else, his mentor Gobber being the most common one but occasionally his uncle Spitelout was called up on and on the very rare occasion - like twice - he was placed into the hands of Bucket and Mulch. After nearly getting carried away at sea though he doesn't think that his father would be very eager to let the two gentle but admittedly somewhat scatterbrained fishermen watch over him again. Usually the only time that he and his father are separated are when he has to go to Odin's cove for a meeting with the other allied chiefs in the archipelago.

Hiccup remembers once asking his father why couldn't they meet on Berk. Why did he have to leave? Didn't he know that Hiccup missed him when he was away?

"I don't leave because I want to. I leave because I have to. To insure that our people will be kept safe."

Its been a year, and Hiccup still does not understand what his father meant. He does not want to go? Then he shouldn't go! And how does going keep their people safe? Is it like a battle royal to decide which tribe is stronger and thus not the one to mess with? Like the tournaments Berk sometimes holds to decide who amongst their tribe is the strongest warrior? (Privately, Hiccup thought that if his father was allowed to participate instead of being the one judging, he would have won instead of Astrid's uncle Finn or even Gobber).

He cant say that nothing came out of this day. He thinks that perhaps, he might have made his first friend. Like Astrid and Fishlegs and the twins with his cousin. 

The five year old sighed happily and turned over, immediately snuggling back under his blankets as the chill came back full force with his move. Green eyes closed sleepily as the day finally caught up to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Stop lagging behind! We are only half way there!" Mildew barked behind him, mouth pulled into a frown barely visible beneath his heard.

They had left just before the sun began to rise, Tyra packing this and that in her small satchel while Hiccup nervously dwindled by the door. Mildew was already out and about, having woken up earlier then the two young ones so that he could check on his cabbage patch before they made the journey. Decades of doing it by himself had turned the older man into a cabbage farming machine , able to spot when he needed to do anything and when he just needed to let his precious vegetable alone or water it. Two days previous he and Tyra had watered the plants, Tyra running to and for their metal wheel arrow filled with water and then quickly running back to the river to top up their supply. By Mildews eye and expertise, the cabbage wouldn't need tending to for another few days. The sun had been kind in its rays and hadn't dried out the soil surrounding it.

In other words, the weedy little hiccup resting in his house was lucky that it was yesterday he got lost as if hey had had to leave tomorrow Mildew was not sure that he could leave his patch unattended.

Over the years, the journey to the village had shortened considerably to the elderly man. When he was younger he took the rough road that had been carved out at the beginning of his exile, too scared to wander into he forests least some manner of creature get to him, or the chance he got lost and could not find his way. Of course, being by himself for so long, he had to find something that could take up him time, and over the decades he had taken different pathways to the village, each one easily locatable by the different markers he lad left on each road, though he has found - unsurprisingly - that just heading down tends to get him to the village regardless of which part of the island he ended up on. Paths that would get him their in a few hours and paths that would take him all day if he really didn't want to go down but had to because he needed something, dragging his feet all the while. 

With two children with him having shorter legs then he possessed and the lack of stamina from climbing down, Mildew wisely chose the shortest path to the village. The faster they got their the faster they could come back, and with Berk's often unkind and unpredictable weather, it was always good to hurry.

Somewhat surprisingly his daughter had no problem keeping up with him. The long days spent in the wilds after her chores was done was spent wisely.

The boy on the other hand...

World weary storm eyes caught sight of the younger boy, his face somewhat flushed with excursion and hair slightly damp from perspiration. He was lagging behind a few good feet from them. For a moment Mildew felt the sympathy for the boy; he knew what it was like, had been in his shoes when his body was so tired and week and he just had to keep going. But he ruthlessly squashed it. Regardless of anything, this is the boy that stole his name. It would take more then sympathy or gratitude to his parents for Mildew to be tolerable around him. He would judge the boy for his actions, and not the actions of his parents. That was the most he was willing to bend in regards to him.

"Hey dad, about how far are we from the village?" Tyra asked, her attention solely on the boy lagging behind. 

Mildew looked at her considerably before answering. "We have about an hour until we get to the village"

"Do you think we can stop for a small break?"

Hiccup, who had finally caught up to them, spoke up in protest. "We don't have to stop!"

Ah, pride. That was one of the few things that Mildew had refused to give up after everything. It was the one thing that he had that remained after all these years, the one thing that he refused to let anyone tear down and the one thing that kept him going for the longest time. It looks to be the same with the new hiccup.

His daughter just shook her head. "That's not the reason that I wanted to stop. I just thought that this would be a good place to stop to eat" She pulled out a cloth full of the wild berries she collected yesterday from her satchel. Hiccup looked at her in surprise and she just smiles.

Mildews brows rose as he observed the two of them and grunted his approval. He took a handful of berries for himself and flopped himself on an old log that had tumbled from a storm years ago and refused to bud any saplings. His daughter and the weed had planted themselves on the ground near him, but far enough away that they could talk without worrying about him overhearing anything. The cabbage farmer observed their interactions as he had been doing the night before.

There was a hesitancy in their interactions, stilted, unsure. Tyra who honestly had no idea as to what she should talk about, more content to ask questions and listen to the weed talk. The weed babbled in response to each question, nervous gestures in his hand movements and a desperation in his eyes the more she paid attention. And it made sense that they would interact this way.

The only person his daughter had ever talked to was him. When she was little he made sure that that idiot blacksmith never saw her. He wanted her to have a future, the chance to marry and have kids, to shine in the tribe proper. She would never shine if she was connected to him in any way. So no one besides the chief could know that they were related. And yes it would hurt, knowing that in the future she would deny being his daughter for the sake of her happiness, but that was ok. Mildew had her now, got to see her grow. Just experiencing the happiness that she brought him was enough. Mildew knew that he was taking a big risk to his plan for her future by bringing her with him as he took the boy to the village, but letting her wander for a few hours a little ways from their house and leaving her all by herself for almost an entire day were two different things. He would think of something before he got to the village. He always was able to think of something.

While he was not as strong as the Viking in the village, Mildew was confident enough to say that he could outsmart them.

Hiccup, on the other hand (and it is still so strange to think of another person named Hiccup, regardless of the years that have passed) was not so surprising. Like he has constantly thought since the boy followed his little Tyra home like a wandering duck following its mother, the boy was like him. More then likely mocked and scorned by the village, if not to the same extent as he has his father the chiefs protection, having someone who was genuinely interested in what he had to say, paying positive attention that was his age? It attracted the boys attention like bees to honey.

Mildew would watch the two of them carefully. He may feel somewhat sorry for the boy, however if he by being by his daughter could ruin her future prospects, well, he would just have to nip the bud before it bloomed.

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"I'm sorry chief"

Stoick growled as the next Viking he sent searching came over apologizing, having not found his son in their search.

It had been nearly a day since he had lost his son in the wilds, and he cursed himself every moment for looking away and not leashing his small son to himself. Of turning one way, sword eager to behead a dragon that dared come near him, show his son what it meant to be a Viking and taking his eyes off Hiccup, who has been taught by him and all the other adults like all the children, to run away at the first signs of danger. Only for a wild hog to come out, gleaming eyes wild and frenzied, husks raised in challenge and legs pawing the ground as it readied to charge.

At the time Stoick had been ecstatic. Boar was a barely eaten commodity in the village, the beasts wild and dangerous, especially in the packs they ran. And while most adult warriors on Berk could take them down, not many did. Despite the large population of boar on Berk, hunting them was left to the very worst of Berks winters or when the population became a threat. They were, to be frank, the ration of the village in times of need, just heart still beating alive. 

However the one that challenged Stoick was alone, and killing just one off wont hurt anyone, so kill it he did. He had bellowed happily to Hiccup, commenting that they would feast well tonight, only for no one to answer him.

Hiccup was gone. Vanished. Disappeared.

And Stoick had to think all through the night, as he organized search parties, 'what if he lost his son to?'

He had already lost Valka to a dragon. He cant bear to think of what he could become if he lost his son to those accursed creatures. Stoick the vast is what he was known as to the various Vikings. Very few people knew that he was almost named Stoick the vengeful. For he would swear vengeance if he lost his son, the last of his family.

He could not lose Hiccup. He just couldn't!

So lost was he in thought that he failed to notice how his people went silent for a moment before whispering.

"Dad!" that however he did notice.

Stoick whipped around so fast he would later be surprised that he didn't get whiplash. 

There he was, at the entrance of the village, auburn hair messy, green shirt a little crooked, but with a wide gap-toothed smile was his boy.

"Hiccup!" he bellowed and ran forward, crouching down half way so that his son who also ran to him could reach him. Though it had only been a day his arms had missed the small scrappy child. He pulled back and gripped Hiccups shoulders. "Never do that again" he ordered.

Hiccup nodded, joy and relief and maybe a small smattering of tears in his eyes, not that Stoick paid the latter any mind.

"Where were you?" he asked, "Did you find the village on your own?"

His son shook his head. "No, I got lost and Tyra found me. Her and her father brought me down" he turned behind him, notices the looks and glances from the rest of he villagers, and self-consciously tugs the end o his shirt. Stoick also glances behind him, the name ringing a few bells but nothing truly coming forth. Nobody was there.

"Where is she?" Hiccup whispered, unaware of the sharp glance his father gave him at the words.

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Just outside of sight, Tyra smiled as father and son were reunited. Her own father was behind her, hand on her shoulder as he took in the scene as well. That same hand pat her on her shoulder, grabbing her attention from the heart warming scene.

"Come", Mildew said, "its time to head home". She nodded, taking one last glance at father and son reunited before turning. It was good that Hiccup had come home, that Stoick had welcomed his child so happily and full of relief. The blonde glanced up at Mildew, at the man she knew was never supposed to have a child.

Had Hiccup gotten lost as a child similar as to how he did now originally? And had Mildew been the one to find him? And if that was the case, how would the man feel, seeing father and son reunited knowing that he never got such a reunion with his parents, or that he had no children to have it with? A man so constantly hated, a life where he mattered very little, and would in fact be rejoiced should he ever pass? How would that have impacted him?

Tyra already knew though, had seen it from a 47" screen what that kind of life would do to him. Had seen a man betray his people and make plans to take the grandson of his childhood tormentor and give it to a man that would not hesitate to use him for his own gains. And really, now that she have seen how Mildew has been treated, can she honestly blame him? Find fault in him trying to find somewhere else he could try to fit in, even if it was at the expense of someone else? Would Tyra have done something different, had she been in his shoes?

She couldn't honestly answer that, mainly because she did not know. The false-child wans to say that she would never do that, never put someone younger then her in that kind of danger, but she likes to be a realist, even if she had the habit to daydream the impossible.

So Tyra just would not think about it, as there truly was no way for her to know, and hopefully would never be put in a situation where she would find out.

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"You must be Tyra" is what greeted her a few days later.

They had tracked their way back up to out house, leaving Hiccup to the tender mercies of his father and the rest of the village. There was a part of her that mourned the separation, but she trudged on. Berk was not too big of an Island that there was not chance that they would see each other again, so the blonde knew that she would see him again.

She just didn't expect that day to be so soon.

Mildew was seated at the table, customary scowl present on his face and staff gripped tightly in his hand. Across from him was Stoick, whose presence seemed to fill the room.

"Um, yes" she answered hesitantly, still a bit blown away by who was sitting in their house like it was an everyday occurrence.

Stoick's brow lifted. "I hear that you are the one that found my son" there was curiosity in his tone, and the expectance of an answer, though Tyra didn't know why. Hiccup had undoubtedly told him what happened, so why he would want her to say anything on that matter was beyond her. I glanced at Mildew who was looking at her as well. 

"Yes" What else was there to say?

The chief nodded as if that was what he had been expecting, which it really had to be, and then turned to her father. "I'll expect her in a weeks time". He smiled down and her head surprisingly gently for a man of his size (must have gotten a lot of practice with his son) before heading out.

Tyra turned to Mildew, ready to ask questions, but he beat her to it. 

"The chief has decided that it is time for you to be introduced to your peers" he explained in his old croaky voice. "You will be learning how to handle a weapon and fight to become a shield maiden of the tribe" there was something proud and sad at the same time in his voice and posture, a slump in his shoulders that would have looked like the wear of age to anyone that had not been with him for a while.

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He was so much bigger up close then he was far away, though Tyra doubted that anything could compare to the presence that the chief exuded.

Thick, strong looking arms bared to the suns rays, pot bellied stomach covered by a dirty shirt, a blond braided moustache, a peg leg and hook arm. He really did look like he did in the movies, only bigger, and far more stinky.

"So you're Mildew daughter Eh?" Gobber the Belch, her new weapons trainer said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So now we have the meeting between Tyra and the rest of the village, starting with our lovable but equally sarcastic blacksmith Gobber. To those of you who felt like this was a feeler chapter, it was, and I am not very happy with how it turned out. Before I used to be so good with filler chapters and relating it to the plot of the story, but now I am just struggling. I think its because I have pretty much plotted out all the main points of this so I am overeager to get on to it, so bare with me for a while.
> 
> As some of you may have notices Tyra was very unsure as how to handle our favorite future dragon rider. That's because whenever we meet someone that we have heard about, we always have expectations of them, even if we don't realize it. Tyra has expectations of Hiccup, she seems him as the teen who rode a dragon and created a whole new outpost for Berk, and does not see him as the kid he is right now, though she will eventually. It will take time. She also constantly wonders in this chapter about the person Mildew was supposed to be. At the beginning she wondered about that, but stopped, but now confronted with Hiccup, the main character of the series she is once again thinking about it as she interacts both with Mildew and Hiccup.

**Author's Note:**

> Updates for this is going to be very slow. I love the HTTYD series, but my use for it tends to die pretty fast then come back later on, it really is at the whims of my muse. This will span into the CN series of Defenders of Berk and Riders of Berk as well as Netflix's series Race to the edge and the second movie.


End file.
